Trust Me
by DaeDreemer
Summary: Jenny and Eric, Summer 2009-- not talking, sailing, and getting arrested.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

**Author's Note**: My entry in this round of Gossipink, the theme was crimes, my prompt was indecent exposure, and I went with a relationship I don't touch upon often. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. :-)

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_It was the sort of phone call, he knew, never, for the rest of his life, would he live it down._

_He looked over at his companion, "You make a call."_

_She gaped at him in disbelief, "I think yours is the lesser of two evils right now—or rather the more evil, which is what we need."_

_He stared at her for a beat, before letting his eyes go back to the phone at their disposal; and he intoned, almost ominously, "You don't understand."_

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"Your plan can't be to spend all day, every day, like this…?"

Her sunglasses don't as much as twitch as she speaks, "No. I've got plans to roll over at two o'clock."

"Jenny…!"

"What?"

"It's barely July," he tells her and he knows his voice is leaking frustration, but one month into summer vacation and he's already wishing for September, school, and a _semblance _of order at least.

His grandmother is sick again; sicker, this time. And his mother took off, for once rightly so, to stay with her in Connecticut. He'd offered to go with her, had wanted to go with her— after Serena had taken off, _not _rightly so, and Chuck had retreated to boardrooms and Blair— but she'd declined the offer; had wanted him to say with Rufus and Dan and Jenny, _stability _she called it, _good for you _she said and then she was gone in a whirl of cool kisses and channel No. 5.

And he's here; in the Hampton's house with Rufus trying to parent him and Dan grinning and offering to lend him books and Jenny—Jenny _bothering _him.

"Your point?" She wonders; voice a little sleepy and barely curious.

He glares at her, but he's pretty sure her eyes are closed behind the sunglasses, so he's not surprised when she doesn't say anything. They'd been here for three weeks and Jenny had developed the routine of rising around ten-thirty for a brunch of non-fat yogurt with blueberries and then lying on a lounge chair for the better part of the day.

He wasn't sure why it bothered him. There was no _reason_ for it to bother him; after all, what else was she supposed to do? It's not like she had any friends in the Hamptons? Except him. It's not like she even knew anyone. Except him.

-- and maybe Nate, but Nate was off with Vanessa somewhere…

Which brought the tally back down to one, to him.

And it's not that she was ignoring him, she wasn't. It's not that he _wanted _to spend his entire day with her either, he didn't. It was just that somehow… _she was bothering him._

"My point is maybe you could get off your lazy ass and do something for a change."

She sighs, like somehow _he's _bothering _her_. "And do what?"

"I don't know, Jenny, interact with people maybe!" He snaps, "Stop being a self-centered, self-absorbed diva for twenty seconds and _talk _to the people around you! _Notice _us!"

She sits at his words, straightening and bringing a hand up to lift her sunglasses from her face, "Eric…" there's confusion flashing across her face and it makes him even more _bothered, _"What are you—"

"Whatever," he cuts her off, turning away and heading indoors; wondering suddenly why he even made an effort as he adds, "Don't forget to hydrate as you bake."

And he can feel her gaze on him as he stalks back into the house; lets the door slam as he makes his way upstairs to his room, wonders vaguely if this is what Serena feels— restless and irrationally irritated— that has her taking flight so often these days; if maybe he shouldn't give in and follow in his sister's footsteps.

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* * *

She pauses at his door; it's been over an hour since he stormed off. She'd thought he would come back, tell her what the problem was— but he hadn't. And their daily late luncheon was about to be served; her Dad, she knew, would ask after Eric. Eric had been good about being polite to her Dad, attending every meal and answering any question about how things worked in this fully-staffed South Hampton House the Van der Woodsen's barely used.

And Jenny is certain that when Rufus learns his almost-step-son is upset about something, that maybe _she _is the source— that there would be no rest for either her or Eric. Better to sort it out now before it gets to that stage.

She stares at the closed door for another beat and then she takes a deep breath and pushes it open without knocking.

Eric's lying across the width of his bed, legs hanging off of one side and head hanging off the other. He's not doing anything and she doesn't know if that means something or not. She waits for a moment, for him acknowledge her presence, but he doesn't.

She sighs, calls his name, "Eric…?" Thinks it definitely looks like she's done something wrong. He'd yelled at her, after all; and that had happened a total of… _one _time since she'd known him.

"What?"

_Are you okay, _is on the tip of her tongue, but there's something in the pitch of his response to her that has her biting the words back. She stands just inside the doorway, looks around the brightly lit room, and wants to go back to her lounge chair. It's neat and decorated in navy blue and tan, book shelves near a desk, closet door closed, the window open, and she's never felt as uncomfortable in his room as she does right then.

He huffs, sits up then, says, "_What?" _again, bite in the word now. "The door was _closed,_ you know," he points out.

"Lunch is… going to be served," she tells him, "Soon."

He rolls his eyes, drops back onto the bed, "Not hungry."

He's practically pouting and she huffs a little too, "Did something happen?"

She asks him.

"Like. What?" The words are crisp and she knows she's asked the wrong thing, but she presses on anyway.

"I don't know, Eric. You kinda freaked out on me before… on the patio. What's wrong with you?"

He turns his face in her direction, "Nothing. There isn't _anything_ wrong this summer. Is there?"

The question hardly makes sense, except for the thread of it that does— and she won't tug on it; knows something, _everything_, will unravel if she does. She blows out a breath instead, waves a hand in the air, "Just come to lunch and—"

"Just get out," he interrupts her, "And leave the door the way you found it. _Closed."_

"Eric—"

"Get _out_, Jenny!"

She sighs; grumbles, "_Fine," _before adding, "When you want to stop pouting and talk about it, I'm around."

She leaves the room and does as he'd asked, closes the door behind her, and she doesn't let herself think of what the seams would show if she tugged the thread, if she let it all unravel.

* * *

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* * *

"Where _is _Eric?"

Jenny sighs, rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses, before shutting them to block out the image of her brother. Since she'd answered Dan's _do you and Eric have plans today _with a very steady _no, _then she saw no reason for Dan to stay on the patio.

"Jenny…?" He insists.

And she is so completely not in the mood. The heat is oppressive, even while wearing a two-piece bathing suit; and although it's not stopping her from lying outside, it's enough to make her more lethargic than usual, coupled with Eric's_ grim_ mood that's been hovering over her head lately, and she's tenser than she wants to be, than she'd thought she'd be this summer…

"I don't know…" she answers laconically, "His room maybe?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"No, Dan. I shouldn't," she tells him a bit tightly, because it's a sore spot, because _usually _she would; because she has no idea why suddenly she doesn't, because it's been two day and Eric's been mostly avoiding her—spectacularly well, "Could you move?" She tells her brother, "You're blocking my sun."

Dan shifts a little as he says, "Aren't you two BFF's or something?"

"Don't say _BFF, _Dan," Jenny cautions, "And so? Do you know where Vanessa is right now?"

Dan checks his watch, "Arriving in Bulgaria, so… going to customs...?"

Behind her closed lids, Jenny rolls her eyes again. "Whoop-ti-do for you then."

"Seriously, Jenny… now that I think about it, I haven't seen him all day…"

"That's because you missed lunch. Shame too, you would have been treated to him ignoring my every glance in his direction." And she's a little proud of the fact that there's no hint of the hurt she'd felt earlier this afternoon reflected in her voice, that there's nothing but cool casualness in her tone.

Dan sighs and she can feel that he sits on the other lounge chair, can feel him watching her. "What'd you do?"

She bristles, turns her head towards him, and feels the heat of the lounge chair against her cheek. "Excuse me?"

"To Eric," Dan tells her; as if she could have misinterpreted his question.

She lifts her sunglasses and opens her eyes to glare at him. "What kind of question is _that?_"

Dan rolls his eyes, "Eric's like… the _nicest _person."

"Oh and I'm not!?"

He eyes her skeptically. "Jenny."

"I didn't do _anything!_" She cries, sitting up and shifting to face him, feels hot air swirling around her, "He's been pissy with me for two days and I didn't do _anything _to him."

Dan rears back a little, holds his hands out to the sides, "Okay, okay— don't bite my head off."

Jenny snarls. "Don't assume everything is my fault!"

"Wow, okay," he stands then, giving her that condescending look he gives sometimes that makes her teeth clench, "Sorry for caring. I was gonna ask you two if you wanted to come to the bookstore with me. Forget it!"

She glares at his retreating back as he moves away, off the patio, back inside, "Yeah! Forget it!"

It's a silly comeback—not a comeback at all, but she needs the last word; because it's _not _her fault this time. She didn't _do _anything to Eric. And if that was the _point _then it was a _stupid _point and she _wasn't _going to look into it, she determines stubbornly. Because it was summer, in the Hamptons, and she _belongs_ herethis time, so she _isn't_ letting herself hear any threads of _anything_ in his voice, _isn't_ going to pick at anything, to pull anywhere— she isn't risking any unraveling, not this summer, not now— she'd had enough unraveling for a lifetime…

And if Eric wants to mope in his room all summer, _fine, _she'll just lie out here, _alone, _in the scorching heat and— and stare into the sky…

She tips her sunglasses over her eyes again, leans back onto the lounge chair and ignores the niggling feeling inside her, the murmuring voice, that whispers she isn't doing enough, isn't good enough— it isn't hard to do, she's had plenty of practice at it.

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* * *

Dinner is ridiculous.

Dan and Rufus carry on conversations about books he read 2 years ago and marvel at shops in town he's visited his whole life. They share their days down to every mundane detail and attempt to prod him and Jenny into doing the same. He answers quietly, noncommittally, Jenny picks at her food and glares at the both of them from under her lashes, doesn't look over at him the way he doesn't look over at her— and he finds himself missing his sister fiercely.

"So you didn't do anything today?"

Rufus's question is the third of its kind and if Eric has to answer it one more time he's going to snap.

The dining room is oppressively quiet as the question remains unanswered. He stares at the food on his plate; if Serena were here, they would have ordered Italian and eaten on the patio, complained about the heat and walked into town to get icee's afterwards. Rufus is trying too hard, _3-meals-a-day, tell-me-where-you're-going, how-are-you-feeling-right-this-moment_, too hard.

"No."

Jenny's monosyllabic answer is quiet, doesn't invite conversation; but her father has never needed to be invited.

He presses, "You spent all day lying around again?"

Eric can't quite tell if it's genuine curiosity or a reprimand in Rufus's voice, he resents it a little either way, isn't really sure why… except it's the Hampton's— and the Hampton's pretty much _are _for lying around, so he's not sure what the problem is…

"Eric?"

He looks up, keeps his expression blank, "Yeah?"

"Did you?"

And he stares for a moment, tries to stave off the bubbling over of frustration and just _can't. _"Did _I _say that I spent the day lying around?" His voice is softer than usual as he sets his fork down.

The older man blinks, "Well no, but Jenny—"

"Jenny and I aren't the same person," he hisses, pushing up from the chair, its legs scraping the floor, "Not even _close." _

He's almost out of the room when she speaks, in that Queen Tone she _didn't _learn from Blair, the one that's _part _of her; raw and raspy, and just as snide. "Yeah, I'm not the one sulking my summer away…"

He whirls around before he can restrain himself, "Have you ever given a _single_ thought to a word you say!?" The question rips out of him, layered in indignation because she _never _fails to astonish him with her audacity.

She's standing from the table too, glaring at him; but looking _directly _at him and he wonders if she's _seeing _him this time. "What words should I be giving thought to Eric!? Just tell me! So you can snap out of this funk you're in and stop trying to impose it on me!"

Rufus slams his silverware on the table, "Jenny! That's enough!"

Dan nods, pushes back slowly on the chair, "Yeah, whatever is going on with you two, it—"

"There is _nothing _going on with us," Eric interrupts Dan curtly, but his gaze on Jenny, "We're _fine," _he says and knows there's a sardonic edge to the words.

He's going to leave it at that, going to turn around and go back to his room, close the door and work on getting himself out of this mood… but she inhales on a huff and crosses her arms in front of her— and he doesn't leave, doesn't move, looks across the room right into her eyes, "We're _best friends, _aren't we Little J?"

He knows what the nickname does to her, knows everything those words carry— resentment and longing, hope and humiliation, triumph and calamity— and he wields it with the intent to _slice_ into her, to _provoke _her_, _even if he's not sure exactly sure to _what..._

And he doesn't doubt it's an unwise thing to do, the way her eyes harden, flash with something vicious, confirms it; but he doesn't care.

He stares at her and she stares back, and it's only after she replies with a steady, _Yeah, E, _that he turns around and leaves the dining room— decides it's a good evening for a walk and forgoes his room.

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Jenny is ready to scream; an ear-splitting, blood-curdling, glass-shattering _scream_.

She's sweaty and tired and Eric is being _unreasonable _and _mean _and completely, totally, _irrational— _and to make matters _worse_, he's doing it _in front of her dad._

"Ugh!"

She shrieks it as softly as she can, _needing _to vent a little of the turmoil inside her, and still manages to startle a couple walking in the opposite direction. She ignores their glances and picks up her pace despite the beads of sweat slipping down the side of her face, wishes she'd tied her hair back before stomping out of the house.

Eric had _left _the house and her father was freaking out— and predictably, this was _her_ fault somehow. _Eric_ has a temper

tantrum and _calls for war _and this is somehow _her _fault… even walking alone on a mostly empty sidewalk she can't stop her eyes from rolling.

Because she has no illusions as to what that was, that _incident, _in the dining room was a war-cry if she's ever heard one— and she _has._ She just never expected _Eric, _of all people,to issue one— not that she was going to pick up the gauntlet… not yet anyway, not until she knew why the battle, what the cost— she's learned that much.

But still, _in front of her dad, _and now she had to find Eric Van der Woodsen and get him back to that house (and _make-up_) or she was spending the summer with her _mother. _

For the moment, she's ignoring the _make-up _part. What she's not ignoring is the threat, because that is what it _is_, a _threat, _of being sent to her mother.

Because, _no…_

Not this year.

Not this summer.

This year, _this time, _she belongs here. She's _Queen, _whether she wants it or not, whether she chooses to enforce it or not— Blair had crowned her and she _belongs _here. She's not going to disappear into the woods of upstate New York, isn't going to vanish, _doesn't have to; _this is her world now and she's going to stay here.

… as soon as she finds Eric.

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* * *

He had already started casting off when he saw her, he's been on the boat for a half hour getting everything ready; there's sweat running down his face down from his hair and he'd taken off his shirt when it'd started sticking to him, wet with perspiration. There was a possibility that this was a bad idea— the heat was ridiculous, even at this time of the day when the sun was well into its descent in the sky, but the promise of getting out on open water, anchoring out, and just lying in the shade, completely _removed _from all of _this, _from _them, _and _her, _and just _everything, _was enough to make him suffer through the it.

She's still wearing the same long and layered Mumu dress, mango colored with spaghetti straps, that she'd been wearing at dinner; the tips of her white flip-flops peaking out past the very long garment as she walks towards him, her bleach-blonde hair loose and hanging around her shoulders.

He rolls his eyes and speeds up his movements despite knowing he won't make it out before she reaches him.

"Eric!"

She calls his name and he ignores her, wonders how she knew he was at the marina in the first place.

"_Eric!" _

She's almost running now, up the walkway, and he sighs, tells himself again that he isn't going to manage to leave in time to avoid her— and still he hurries, swipes a hand over his forehead, wiping beads of sweat away.

"_What_ are you doing!?"

There's a thread of panic in her voice and he wonders how much trouble she's in with her Dad— probably a lot, judging by the pitch of that question.

"Eric! Seriously!"

She's breathless when she reaches his slip, looks as sweaty and sticky as he feels, and he's almost finished; the boat has started sliding forward in its rocking motion, the waves drifting him a little farther away from the dock. Her eyes are round in her flushed face as she stares over at him, a hand brushing at the bangs sticking to her forehead, "What are you _doing_?" She asks him again, as though it weren't obvious.

"Going sailing," he answers simply, averting his gaze from her.

"You _can't!" _She hisses, "You have to come home! It's going to be dark in—"

"— like three hours," he cuts in tightly, "I don't need a babysitter, Jenny, I know what I'm doing."

And he does. He moves to the front of the boat, welcomes the respite of shade. He's not going far and he's been single-handed sailing before; it's calming, draws all your focus in— and he's hoping it'll ease this _something_ that's inside him, brush away some of the restlessness, the irritation, the strange pangs _hurt..._

She's gaping at him; he can feel the heat of it without looking at her.

"My Dad wants you home, Eric," she says finally and the panic is gone from her voice. It's replaced with a determined edge he doesn't like. It's echoing of the Queen she was trained to be, the one she's been chosen to be.

And he's not feeling balanced enough to deal with that Jenny, the one that demands to be obeyed; he doesn't _want _to… because their friendship _shouldn't _be used as a barb… and he doesn't like that he'd been able to use it so easily…

"I'll be back later," he placates her steadily, restraining himself from adding anything more as he draws in a deep breath; there's sweat trickling down his bare chest and the light breeze rustling his hair is barely a relief.

… because she shouldn't be following him— shouldn't want him _home, _as she calls it, because her _Dad_ told her so…

"Eric…" she starts.

"_Later," _he insists without letting her finish; voice tight.

… because it should be _real, _this family, this _friendship_, but all of it— it all feels like pretend…

He swallows hard, lets the thoughts taper away as he studies the control panels.

And he _hears _her when she stamps her foot; an instant later she's huffing, "No,_ now_,_"_ at him as if she had any dominion over his actions.

He doesn't turn around as he bites out, "No," with what he thinks is admirable self-control, "_Not _now."

A barely-there-pause and then, "Why not?"

Because I don't _want_ to," he growls, voice low, jaw clenching a little.

"I can't go back without you!" She cries, frustration seeping into her voice.

And he squelches the thought that _of course_ that was the problem— because what else was he expecting?

"Then walk around town for three hours," he calls over his shoulder as he sets coordinates, "Or sneak-in. Or fake-it. You're good at that."

She gasps, and he wonders if that if that actually stung. "What is _wrong _with you!?"

It's more of an accusation than a question and he moves out of the shade to work on the sails; noting vaguely that the sun's already starting to burn the skin on his shoulders.

_What's wrong with me?" _He echoes the question back at her, and a touch of the spite blended with the sting he's feeling are lining the words; he uncoils some of the ropes and the sails open, the boat sliding forward. She's walking beside it, he can hear her, but he doesn't look over at her.

There's a thudding sound beside him and he starts, looks over to see a white flip-flop. He looks up in time to see her remove the other and toss it onto his boat too.

He hesitates a moment, nonplussed the action. And then he reads the intent written all over her face, shouts, "No, don't!"

But she's moving towards him anyway; he shakes his head, ties the line off and moves towards her flip-flops, "_Don't!" _He hisses at her as he picks up the sandals and throws them back onto the dock.

It doesn't deter her. She doesn't care. She lays her hands flat over the side as he moves back to the ropes— intent on closing up the sails; but she leverages herself and slides over it, onto the deck, just as the sail blooms and the boat begins to smoothly glide out of the slip. She staggers a little as she lands, but still— she is firmly on the deck of the boat.

He hisses, _fuck, _pulls the rope taunt to keep them from picking up speed and looks over at her sharply, glares as he shouts, "Get _off _the boat!" Motioning with his chin towards the dock behind her, she could still jump off, he knows...

But she shakes her head, "No, not till you tell me what your _problem_ is!"

He's yanking on rope, but the boat is still moving away from the docks. "Get _off_, Jenny!" He shouts, leaning his weight back on the lines even as the sail catches another wind.

"I'm not going back without you!"

"Jenny— _get off. The fucking. Boat." _

"NO!"

And he's going to do, to _say,_ something unacceptable if this happens, if he ends up alone on this boat with Jenny.

He shakes his head roughly at the thought and ties the line off with furious movements, then steps towards where he'd dropped his shirt earlier; a puddle of dark green fabric.

"What are you _doing!?" _She screeches as she watches him bend down to pick it up.

"_I'm _getting off!" He snaps at her, moving to put it back on, "Since _you _won't!"

She rips it from his grasp, "You can't leave me here alone!"

He hisses, "Then get _off _the boat!" And reaches for his shirt in her grasp.

She yanks it away from him.

"Jenn—"

And then she tosses his shirt overboard as deliberately as he had thrown her flip-flops moments before; the cloth takes flight in the air for a moment and then lands gently on the waves.

He gapes for an instant and then bellows, "What is _wrong _with you!?" At her, takes a step closer to her as he waves towards the water, "That's my shirt!"

She's glaring at him, "With me!? Are you _kidding_?!"And she's right in his face then, "Just tell me what the hell your problem is!?"

A breeze slips over them then, cool on their flushed skin; the sail opens up more, the boat picking up speed and the dock is no longer a possibility as they slip farther away from it.

He stares at her, feels himself unravel at the shouted question, the hollered demand.

And then he scowls at her, is _finished _with trying to restrain himself; all he _wanted _was the peace of rocking waves and a salt-water breeze—and what he's _getting _is Jenny in all her _bothering-him _glory.

"It's not _your_ problem though is it, Jenny!?" He sneers, "So why do you even _care?!_"

She rears back a little, "What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"

"_Exactly_ what it _sounds _like!"

She rolls her eyes, hands waving to the side, "Would you just _tell_ me what is going—"

He's not finished. "Since when do you care about what's going on, Jenny!? Since when do you even _notice _that there'sa problem!?"

Her eyes flash and she steps towards him, "Since right this goddamn _second_, Eric!So just _tell _me!"

They're breathing hard, faces flushed and sweaty, fists clenching at their sides and mouths drawn in tight lines. It's the biggest argument they've ever had and there's a tiny part of him that's _satisfied _by it; before he scowls at her and turns away.

He hears her blow out a breath; blows out one of his own as he steps away from her and towards the control panels again.

She follows him, her bare-feet sticking to the wooden boards, "What are you doing?"

"Would you _stop_ asking me that?!" He snipes.

And she growls, "Eric!" at him, frustrated and sounding oddly near tears.

"Turning the boat _around_, Jenny," He answers crossly; feels hot and infuriated and wants nothing more than to get her _off _this boat.

She moves around to his side, reaches out and _touches him. _"Eric—"

He yanks his arm back, away from her, and lifts incensed eyes to her face, "You make me _furious," _he spits at her.

And even _he's _a little surprised at the vehemence in his voice; she pulls back away from him, expression carefully blank and nods, her blue eyes roving over his face, "I can see that."

He rips his gaze from her face, focuses on the panels in front of him; a moment later he lifts his eyes to the glass, to the ocean view beyond it.

"You want to tell me why?" She asks after another beat of silence; and it's in her voice too, that blankness.

And he _does. _He answers her steadily, "No._" _Because he shouldn't have to.

* * *

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* * *

She's sitting at the very back of the boat, on the floorboards, not the seats; her eyes cast on the water they're gliding over as Eric sails out in preparation for bringing the boat around. She's at the farthest point she can be from where he's standing; the spray from the waves splattering her, tickling her bare feet, her knees drawn up to her chest as she circumspectly inspects the boat Eric is deftly maneuvering; the thick lines and glossy floors, the plush seats and intricate knots.

She hadn't even known Eric _knew _how to sail; but the vessel they're currently on isn't careening about wildly so she can only assume he's done this before. The sails are up, billowing slightly, and they're a glimmering white material even against the fading blue sky; the glossy navy-blue boat is moving steadily through the waves, the air around them is mostly quiet, the occasional seagull overhead, the sunlight shimmering off the aqua water and it would all be beautiful, _tranquil_ even— any other day. But the beauty around her is obscured by the atmosphere aboard and she swallows hard, sends a quick look to Eric's back, he's completely still and silent, has yet to say another word to her and she doesn't know where to begin, what to _do—_ except to get off the boat when he reaches the docks again.

She'd walked around the down-town area of the neighborhood, had checked all their usual haunts, and even some of the unusual (a florist?), without any luck; she'd been on the beach trying to think of where else he would have gone, when she'd given up—she wasn't going to spend all evening doing this— and called Blair.

Blair who had been oddly _interested _in Jenny's plans the one time she had seen her since, who she knew was _watching _her somehow; because Blair had crowned her, but she _knew_ that didn't mean she was free of her—just the opposite in fact. Taking up the mantle of Queen, meant Blair would always _own _a part of her; and that was something she was still considering, still deliberating…

It'd been a brief conversation, quiet and not-quite stilted; both listening for undercurrents that for once, weren't there.

"_If Eric were upset, where would he go?"_

_"Why would Eric be upset?"_

_"I don't know. Are you going to answer the question?"_

_"He likes to sail."_

_"He… _what?"

Blair had huffed at her and hung up then.

And Jenny had headed for the marina. And now she was on a _boat_ for goodness sake and Eric was _furious _with her, more angry than she had _ever _seen him and she had no idea _why_. For a moment, he'd looked angry enough to push her overboard and she'd felt actual _tears _sting her eyes at how _unfair _he was being. She isn't a mind reader; he can't expect her to just _know _what is going on…

Except that apparently, he _does. _

She sneaks another look over at him. He's still standing with his back to her, but he's shifting around a little, seems to be looking at something. And she sighs softly, bites her lip; the sun is still so hot, and all the walking and running around town, the beach, the docks, has made her sticky and uncomfortable—she spares another glance in his direction, before leaning down a little, slipping her fingers in the cool ocean water.

It feels amazing, refreshing and _cold _even against her heated skin; she's sinking her hand in deeper, cupping water in her hand and bringing it up to pour over her shoulders and down her dress, when the boat shifts a bit, turning, and she loses her balance, tilts over as she squeaks, "_Oh!" _and turns her head in Eric's direction.

He's not at the controls anymore, he's standing by the lines, has them in his hands and she's trying to regain her balance, stretches out her hand, but it's gone, and she breathes a frightened, "Eric!" before she toppling into the ocean.

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

Eric looks over in time to see Jenny fall into the water and he hisses, _fuck,_as hears the splash and sees her go under; a dozen safety procedures he _hadn't_ followed flooding his mind. Hell, he hadn't even _looked _at her since she'd left his side, he thinks a touch hysterically, and what the _fuck _was she doing sitting _there _anyway_; _who _does _that!?

"Jenny!" He's calling her name even as he adjusts sails and then ties off lines as quickly as humanly possible. He slows their movement down considerably as he dampens the spikes of panic he's feeling with, _she can swim_, and _they were barely moving to begin with _and _these are easy waters; _tells himselffive minutes, _seven_ at the _very _most, and he'll have her back on board— it'll be _fine. _

Still, he's running for the Lifesaver so fast that he stumbles a little, and when he hears her scream his name, he stops; looks over at her. Her white-blonde head is bobbing above the rising and ebbing waves as the boat drifts away slowly, her arms are flapping at the water, but she keeps slipping down, like she can't _keep _her head above the water.

"It's okay!" He shouts back, "Just swim, I'll have you—"

"_Can't!" _She gasps back and he stares, watches her head go under again; she's having more trouble then she should be, he thinks, a bit frantically, as he reaches for the Lifesaver. He's back at the side of the boat an instant later and as her head appears above water, farther away this time, and he realizes _why _she's having trouble…

_"Eric!" _She calls for him again; and there's a sob in her voice this time.

"The dress!" He shouts at her, "It's tangling you up!" And then he draws his arm back and flings the flotation device in her direction; he tightens the knots attaching it to the vessel and then he moves, _fast, _to get the boat anchored. "Grab that!"

"…. _wha—wha…?!"_

She sounds breathless and terrified and it makes his heart pound faster, his stomach lurch; he's _responsible _for her. He doesn't look over at her as he works on getting the anchor down, "The dress! Fall _out _of it! Get it off!" He yells in response, "Then swim to the preserver! I'm coming around!"

"_… Er—ric…!' _

And she can do that, he knows; and it's going to be _fine. _

_"_Just hold on to it!" He tells her.

And he moves, _faster, _to bring the boat around and anchor out, falls back on the things he learned years ago, let's training take over, and doesn't let himself think of anything but what he's doing _right then. _And when he's finished, he looks over the side, at the water, and he can't _see _her. The red and white life preserver is floating on its own a few feet out and she is _nowhere _to be seen.

He panics.

"_Jenny!_"

Shoes and shorts off because he has to _find _her; _right _now. He's ready to jump in when she surfaces, not quite at the life preserver, but _there. _And he breathes.

"Jenny!" He calls her name, "Grab it! I'll pull you back!"

He thinks maybe she nods, but it's hard to tell with the movement of the ocean around her. The moment her hands wrap around the floatation device he's pulling it back towards the boat. When she's near enough, he drops to the floorboards, the same she'd slipped from, sinks his legs into the water, starts a little at the chill overwhelming his heated skin, and then he leans down to hook his elbows under her arms.

He hauls her up beside him; and she presses herself to his side, slippery and _cold, _both their legs drifting in the water as she clings to his chest, her bare arms wrapping around his neck. She's in nothing but her pale orange underwear, the dress gone, and she's gasping and shaking and _hugging _him hard and he thinks, maybe he's not quite as mad at her as he had been; not with the rush of _relief _and _thank you _that's coursing through him.

"Oh _g—god, _oh m—my god, _Er—ic…" _she mumbles it breathlessly and he nods, _agrees, _and he shifts so he's wrapping both arms around her.

She's shivering and he rubs her back; draws in a deep breath, because it's okay now. It's _fine. _Just like he'd known it would be— he tightens his hold on her a little.

A moment later she whispers, "I d—don't thi—think I like sa—sailing…"

And he blows out a breath, lips quirking in relief. He thinks about telling her she should have stayed on the dock, but she's still shuddering in his hold, so he shifts backwards instead, tells her gently, "Come on…" as he straightens, pulls away.

He lifts his legs out of the water, stands, and then he tugs her up with him. Her legs tremble underneath her and her teeth are still chattering enough that his relief is turning to worry. "Sit here…" he says, slowly guiding her down onto one of the seats.

She does; without comment, blue eyes fixed on floor, body tense from trying to restrain shivers to no avail. He turns from her, intent on going below for a towel, when she grabs his hand, "Wh—where're you go—going…?!"

He's surprised by the edge of panic in the question, realizes quite _suddenly _that she was _scared _and stares at her for a beat. He'd been seven-years-old the first time he'd fallen overboard; it'd been perfectly safe, they hadn't even been moving save for the rocking of the waves, he'd been wearing a life vest, and been pulled back up in less than minute— still, he'd shook for about a half hour, he remembered, had wanted nothing but to sit _right next _to Serena if not _on her lap _for the rest of the afternoon. It's such an _abrupt _thing, it completely unbalances you and he feels a swell of sympathy for her.

"I'm going below for a second, we have to get dry," he gives her hand a squeeze; "I'll be right back."

She licks her lips, winces a little, probably at the salt on them, and then nods at him. "Ye—yeah…"

He offers her a quick smile and then moves to get them both towels.

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

She can't stop shivering.

The sun is lower in the sky, but the rays on her skin are warm enough— she just can't seem to stop shaking. She's got her arms wrapped around herself and her legs drawn up against the back of her arms, she's pressed into to the backrest of the plush seats Eric led her to and she feels _exhausted… _and maybe a little _totally-terrified._ Tears fill her eyes again as she remembers the feeling of being weighed down, dragged under by heavy water-laden fabric, of the waves coming higher than her head, covering her head, water stinging her eyes, filling her mouth, of Eric disappearing from sight…

She jumps when the towel falls over her shoulders.

"It's okay."

He's talking softly to her, gently; sounds more like the Eric she knows than he has for the past couple of days—and that makes her want to cry even more. She doesn't move for the towel, keeps her arms where they are; and so he's dropping besides her, wrapping the soft, fluffy material of the light blue towel around her himself, rubbing it against her chilled skin, over her wet hair, back over her back and shoulders...

"So I think the last person to use this boat last summer was Serena," he starts talking as he dries and she can tell he just wants to fill the silence, "And the person before that was Chuck— so you know, there's no food or actual clothing and very little first aid stuff on board, but there's bikinis and scotch…" he gives her an arched eyebrow, "And other things…" he adds a little smile to the words.

And her lips quirk a little as she looks into his smiling face.

He leans back from her, turns a little and she notices a liquor bottle and a glass he'd set on the floorboards, "At least one of those is useful to us— here… it'll help."

The glass he's offering her is a little over half-way full of amber liquid and she wants to take it and drink and pretend this never happened; but just because she _can _swim doesn't mean she _likes _to or that she _has _all that often and the waves had just kept _coming. _"I thought maybe you wouldn't help me right away."

He blinks at her, lowers the glass. "Jenny…" he says softly after a moment, looks sad then, brown eyes dropping from her face.

"You were so mad…" she says, still shaking, and is a little embarrassed at the small hitch in her voice. She draws in a quick breath to steady herself, fingers the edges of the towel he'd wrapped her in with water-wrinkled fingertips. "I thought maybe… you'd leave me out there for a little while." She's not keeping the thread of fear from her voice, she knows that much; can hear it herself.

And he's watching her, his brown eyes meeting her blue steadily, like he's searching for something in her gaze, in _her. _She shudders a little, still can't seem to stop, and she doesn't say anything more; wonders if he's going to find it, if it's even there… and thinks that he won't, that it's not. Because Dan's _right _and Eric _is _the nicest person and she _isn't…_

And Eric isn't afraid to tug on threads, to have things unravel; Eric likes to see whatever the seams show.

"I wouldn't do that," he says then and tilts his head to one side a little, releases a little sigh and waves his free hand out a bit, like he can't really believe it himself as he adds, "You're my best friend."

"I am," she whispers tremulously; but it's not a question, even if it's not-quite a statement either. The tears are still pooled in her blue eyes, wet strands of her bangs hovering over them, and Eric can't seem to look away from her. The sun is setting around them, dusk approaching, and the scorching heat of the summer afternoon is giving way to a balmier ambiance. She shivers again. "So what's happening with you?" She asks him, notices the way his eyes look darker as the sun shifts behind him, "With us?"

After a moment, he shrugs, at the question, one shouldered, but not as casual as he'd want it to be, she thinks. "… my best friend," he repeats slowly, carefully, "But not really… a _good _friend."

She stares at him; the words trailing sluggishly through her mind. And then, before she can respond, he's pressing the glass into her hands. "Drink it, in one gulp if you can," he says to her, standing, "I'm going to take us back to the marina."

She stares at him again as he moves away; realizes that he's just in his boxer shorts, no shoes even. "Eric, where're your clothes?"

She's asking the question before she can stop herself; and knows even as she speaks that it _shouldn't_ be the first thing she says after he's just called her a… a _not-good _friend— but it's too late. Her shivering is lessening, but her hands are still shaking and she feels oddly _cold _even though the night air is just barely _cool. _

There's a huffed laugh from Eric and she thinks there's a trace of actual amusement in it, even if it is _disbelieving_ amusement.

"I didn't want to have the same problem as you, figured dropping any water absorbent clothing was a smart thing to do," he answers and the he turns around to face her, "We're going to start moving again, sit right there," he says, almost admonishingly, "You don't sit over there," he points to where she'd been, "Unless the boats anchored or moving slowly, you fish off there or just… relax… but you don't sit there while we're moving and _especially _not while I'm _turning the boat around." _

"I didn't know that."

He nods. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I'm sorry I ruined your trip."

He doesn't look like he believes her. "Uh-huh, I remember telling you to get off and you—"

"Would you really have jumped in to get me?" She wonders, steadies the glass on her knee, because her hands won't stop trembling.

Eric stops mid-sentence, "Of course," he answers her.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't know _what_ to say. _Thank you _doesn't seem right, not when he says _of course _in that _duh _tone he gives her sometimes; like the possibility of anything else was so outlandish she shouldn't even have considered it. So she just watches him for a beat and then she lifts the glass to her lips and drinks the entire contents in one long gulp— like he'd told her to.

She gasps as it goes down, closes her eyes, because it _burns. _And then a moment later there's a deep heat that spreads through her; a warm knot in her stomach that extends tendrils outwards towards her limbs—arms and legs, fingers and toes, everything blessedly _warm._

"Better, huh?"

Eric's voice has her blinking her eyes open.

The boat's moving again and he's tying off a line, looking over at her with a half-grin on his face; and it rushes over her then, slips out of her mouth, "I _missed_ you," she says fervently, because right then she admits that she _has. _She's gotten used to Eric a pace behind her or right at her shoulder, to his wry comments on her Dad's plans for the day, to exchanging eye rolls with him over Dan's inevitable daily drama, to just having him _there _with her, to be bored with or irritated with or hungry with or just—_anything_ with—

But it's not like that's something she'd _ever _planned on voicing. "Uh… yeah," she offers quickly, a touch loudly as she nods vigorously, licks her lips, "_Awesome,_ really…"

He looks amused, pleased even. And she thinks suddenly that she might have said something _right_ finally. He watches her, "Uh-huh… Awesome?"

She nods. "Yeah, you should have some!" She adds brightly; and uncoils a little as the sweet warmth thrums inside her, lets her legs fall, her feet land on the floor.

"Nah, don't think so…" Eric answers and he sounds like he wants to laugh a little, "It's probably better if I get us _to _the dock and not _into _it."

She thinks this makes a lot of sense. "That makes a lot of sense," she tells him, nodding again.

He does laugh then, moves closer to her, "Does it?"

The sky behind him is pink and orange and the water beyond him looks strangely dark and a touch ominous to her eyes; she shudders again. "The water's too dark," she informs him.

"You're a light-weight," he tells her, and there's definitely laughter in the words this time, "A half-glass of scotch and you're gone."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she informs him and she doesn't laugh, "_Still. _I _still _don't know what you're talking about; why you're so mad; what's going on; I just, _don't know." _

The smile fades from his face and he sits down beside her again, "Jenny—"

"Just tell me why you're so mad."

"Why? Because you can't go home to your Dad until you make-up with me?"

"Yes!" She nods, because that's exactly what her father had said; and she doesn't understand why he looks so hurt then, she shifts closer to him, "Eric…"

He stares at her. "You're buzzed, you know that."

She blinks at him, lifts the empty glass that's still in her hand to eye level and stares at it. Then she shifts her gaze to him, "You should drink too...."

"No," he answers steadily, takes the glass from her hand and sets it away, "But you should know that being someone's friend isn't _just _about having someone to read Twilight with. You have to talk to them, know about what's going on with them— you have to care."

"I _do _care."

"Really?"

He sounds so incredibly skeptical that she feels herself bristle, spine stiffening as she straightens. The shivers have tapered off and she lets the towel over her shoulders slip off a little. "Yes, _really_."

He tilts his head again, is watching her so seriously that her skin prickles with anxiety. "Sometime I think we're friends because you need someone, and I just _happen _to be the only someone available. The only one you haven't alienated or whose spirit you haven't crushed yet."

She rears back, gasps; the words burning her skin— so calm, so steady, so underlined with truth. She shakes her head, feels that prickling of tears again, "Eric, that's not—"

"Are you sure?" He wonders, and there's _bite _in the words now; his jaw taunt with tensions, with _hurt,_ "Because you're kind of the crappiest friend I've ever known, Jenny…"

She shoots off the seat then, standing and whirling to face him. The boat does a spin around her head at the quick movement, and she wavers on her feet.

He stands after her, eyes going wide as she sways and he reaches for her, "Hey—" he sounds concerned, the bite gone from his voice, and all of a sudden, she wishes he'd _stop _being so _nice. _

"Then why are you even _friends _with me_, _Eric!" She shouts at him, pulling back, not letting him touch her, "Why would even _want _to hang out with someone like me!"

"Forget it, just sit down," he tells her, tries again to reach for her.

She yanks back, feels the tears getting heavier in her eyes, "If you can't talk to me, if I'm always clueless, if—"

"— just leave it, forget I said—"

"If I'm so goddamn _uncaring _then why would you—"

"— because maybe I need someone too!"

It spurts out of him; a dark, lonely admission, and they are both completely still in its aftermath.

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

She's staring at him with hugely-wide blue eyes, her still-drying blonde hair curling around her shoulders, wrapped in a towel in nothing but her bra and panties and the words keep spilling out, "Because maybe having someone, _anyone,_even you, is better than having no one!"

Her eyes flash then, "But you have _Jonathon, _Eric, your _boyfriend,_ why would you need me!? He's—"

"Yeah and where _is _he, Jenny?! Do you even _know!?" _He shouts it at her and her mouth snaps shut, because she _doesn't. _"You haven't even _asked!"_

She stares at him. "He's in…" she trails off, "He's on… vacation with…"

"And you're supposed to be my _best_ friend, that's _different_ from a boyfriend!"

She stares at him again, eyes wide, silent now.

He rolls his eyes, sighs, "Just _forget _it, Jenny," he whispers, tired, because this little afternoon sail has turned out to be so much more than he bargained for, "Let's just—"

She steps towards him, "I—I know that, E," she tries, "You _are _my best friend, and I _do _care… I just…" she trails off once more and he sighs again.

"Yeah… I know…" He doesn't, not really, but he offers her a wan smile anyway, "It's okay…" He's not sure it is, but he's also not sure what else they can do. So he draws in a deep breath and he forces his smile a little wider and then he moves back toward the helm of the boat, because they're almost back and… and there's nothing more to say.

He focuses on the tasks at hand and ignores her when she comes to stand beside him at the controls.

They stand in silence for a few minutes and then he feels it when she lets the towel drop completely from her body, hears it land with a wet thud on the floor; but he doesn't look over at her. She's already seen enough of him for tonight, enough of what he's feeling and the things he can't say.

"Sometimes I don't even know why we're still friends…" she whispers, her voice carrying a faraway lilt to it.

He starts a little, surprised. He keeps his gaze on the darkening skies before him and the marina in the distance that they're quickly approaching, as he opens his to respond.

But she speaks before he can, voice still as quiet, still as faraway, "… why you forgave me in the first place."

And _that's _enough for him to look away from the view and right into her face.

He knows his eyes have widened a little, "Jenny…"

"I mean, who _does _that?" She wonders, still not looking at him. "Who forgives people who…" she trails off there, her gaze sharpening onto his face abruptly; the tears he'd seen there earlier are gone though, there's nothing there now but a heavy blue gaze that's locked onto his face. She shakes her head, starts over, "I mean, how could you _forgive _me for…"

"Calling me a liar after I outed myself in front of everyone we knew?" He finishes it for her, when she trails off again.

And she doesn't look away, doesn't flinch; she nods at him, because she _had_ done that— and it's the thing about her he's come to respect, how she won't take it back. She might regret it, but she'll never disown it.

"Why?" She asks.

He looks away, back at the view. Another few minutes and he has to start docking. "I told you then…it's not like I have a full social calendar, so—"

"You could make other friends, Eric," she says it so confidently, like there's absolutely no doubt in her mind, and he swallows hard; wonders vaguely how she can be so sure.

"But none with your sense style," he teases gently.

"I'm serious."

He nods, still refusing to go there, to look over at her, "So you're a serious drunk," he smirks, "Congratulations."

She frowns, "I'm not drunk."

"That swallow of scotch set you all alight, Jenny, I saw it happen." And he had, it'd been like watching a cat ingest catnip. He was surprised her pupils hadn't dilated.

"Maybe a little less inhibited, but not _drunk_. Drunks don't use words like _inhibited_."

"They do when they're drinking Chuck's scotch."

"_Why_, Eric?"

"Jenny—"

"You wanted me to care, I'm caring. I _do _care."

"Fine. You care. Thanks," he intones, then adds, "It'd be nice if you cared about what's going on _now _and not what happened a year ago."

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about what was going on now, okay? I thought you just wanted to… pretend it wasn't happening."

"No, that'd be you. _You _want to pretend like nothing's happening."

He can hear her drawing in a deep breath. "I don't know what to do about now, Eric. I don't know what to say."

And there's a lump in his throat suddenly as he turns to her, meets her gaze, "I don't need you to do or say anything, Jenny. I just need you to let me tell you, I miss my sister and I'm scared for my Mom and I'm worried about my grandma."

She looks paler than normally then, her eyes bluer, and it takes him a moment to realize there's a tear that's slipped down her cheek; and he wonders when it had gotten there.

"Yeah?" She says, voice husky.

He breathes a soft huff, feels the lump in his throat swell as he says hoarsely, "Yeah."

She licks her lips, nods, "Okay."

And blinks, slow and heavy, _wants _to believe her. "Good."

She throws those long arms around his neck again then, hugs him to her; their bare skin warm against each other and her hair tickling his face. She smells of salt water and sun-block and he smiles a little when she whispers, "Thanks for not leaving me as fish food," against his ear.

He pulls back with an eyeroll, gives her a nudge away from him, "Go sit... on the _seat," _he emphasizes, "We're almost back."

She nods at him, and then impulsively reaches out and kisses his cheek; she _blushes _then and his small smile stretches a little. "Don't go overboard with the _caring, _J."

She giggles and that's how he's _certain _the scotch was too much for her, "Wouldn't dream of it, E."

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

Eric has them sliding towards the dock, towards his slip at the marina, at a slow, level pace; the sun is almost completely into the horizon now and they've shared in a soft and companionable silence since he'd instructed her sit down several minutes ago.

She's starting to think that maybe Eric's right about the scotch, because she's feeling awfully mellow about everything that's happened and been said; she's warm too, despite being in just her bra and underwear and she's thinking the dark ocean isn't looking so ominous now that they're closer to the safety of buildings and piers.

She's peaking over the edge as they begin to slide into the proper slip when Eric's voice comes to her; he's standing towards the back of the boat, but he's facing her. "You e-mailed me," he says very softly.

She frowns a little, can't quite see his face from where's she's sitting now that the sun is leaving them. The Marina outer lights are on, even though the building itself seems to be closed. She blinks, opens her mouth to ask him _what _when he continues.

"When we met," he adds, "Remember… I was out shopping with Serena…"

And she blinks again, lets her thoughts go back to her first meeting with Eric, her silly awe at Serena Van der Woodsen. She nods, "Yeah…" she agrees, and then shakes her head, "Why are you—"

"You were _nice _to me," he continues, "And yeah, I know, I knew even then, that you wanted to be friends with _Serena Van der Woodsen's _little brother, but it was still—"

"Eric—" she whispers, sitting up straighter; her mellow mood drifting away as she _hears _him.

"—didn't you?" He cuts into her protest sharply, and she can't quite _see _his eyes, but she can _feel _the weight of his gaze—_daring _her to lie to him.

"Yes," she admits, lifts her chin a little, "I did."

"Exactly," he confirms, "But _still," _he says again, "It was nice to have that. To have someone e-mailing and text messaging me; you talked about teachers and dresses and homework, about your brother's weirdness and you mother's absence and your Dad's obsession with his rock n roll past—about all these… _normal_ things and you neverasked about _it._ You let me tell you and then you let it go. You didn't treat me like I was some kind of freak locked up in the Ostroff Center._" _

She's standing up then, moving towards him, "Eric, you were never a—"

"So that's why," he cuts in, definitively; like he's made some great point— which she isn't seeing.

She shakes her head again, waves a hand, "Why, what?"

"Why I forgive you," he answers her, and she can see his face more clearly now, illuminated by the lights from the marina, can see the determination on it, the sincerity; the way he's offering her something of himself very few have seen.

And she shivers inside, the feel of that, of that level of _trust, _terrifying her more than being submerged beneath ocean waters had; she wants to tell him to stop suddenly, to be quiet, to _not _trust her with this, with something so deeply woven into _himself_. Because she _does _care about him, _loves _him even, enough to know how much of a danger she could be to him.

But her mouth is dry and she doesn't know how to voice this, what words to use; and he presses on, gives her more.

"Because having that, then, it _helped _me in those days," he whispers, "You don't forget things like that; you don't forget the people that-- that help you through something like that…"

His gaze slips off her face then, "So… yeah," he shrugs, "That's why…"

He doesn't wait for her to say anything; he turns away from her and starts working on…. boat things. She watches him for a while, maybe for a few minutes. He ties lines and unknots things, the sails over shift as he pulls and releases ropes, and they are quite literally almost _stopped _at the proper slip when she shakes herself out of contemplation.

"Can I— can I do something?" She wonders carefully, walking towards him. She's pretty sure that's not what you say after someone says—all _that _to you, but then again, she doesn't _know _what someone is supposed to say after all that.

Eric looks over at her and he rolls his eyes. "You waited to ask that when there's absolutely nothing left to do, didn't you?"

She shrugs both shoulders, wraps her arms around herself, "I can't say I like this sailing thing very much."

"Maybe you'll like it more if you're _invited _next time."

"Will you? Invite me?"

He turns towards her fully. The boat's not moving anymore, just being rocked gently by the waves, "Sure, if you want."

"I want…" she tells him and then walks to him, until there's less than an arm's length between them, "Eric."

He purses his lips, "Hm?"

"I wanted to be friends with Serena Van der Woodsen's little brother first, yeah, but thenI wanted to be _your _friend, okay?"

And he does it again then; his dark eyes roving over her face, as if he were searching for something there, as if he could see something there, something _in _her. And she thinks then, that if someone _could _see everything inside her, see her _need _to win and her _fear _of it, the way she longs for it and dreads it, the things she's willing to do for it and the remorse that eats at her for that, then it would be Eric— Eric who's her best friend and gives her more of himself than she knows what to do with. Eric who met little Jenny Humphrey before she was Little J, who sat in an office by her side as she tried to reset the course of her life, who's seen her become Queen and felt, in the flesh, the things she's capable of doing…

"Okay," he says then, kindly, accepting her words, breaking into her thoughts; not questioning, because they both know the words might not hold up under questioning.

"Makes sense," he adds after a moment, "I'm obviously the better catch of the two."

She smiles at him, grins actually, and groans, "Could we _not _talk about catching—which leads to fish—which leads to _that…" _she points to the Ocean and gives a mock shudder.

Eric grins back.

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

Jenny's looking over the edge of the boat with an odd interest and Eric walks towards where he'd left his shoes earlier, "We'll just wrap the towels around ourselves and run back to the house, okay?" He offers, "We'll stick to the beach as long as we can, so you can walk on the sand."  
"Oh you mean because you threw my sandals off the boat."

"You threw my shirt into the ocean."

"You made me take off my dress."

"So you wouldn't drown!"

"_Still." _

He rolls his eyes, "The flip-flops were probably picked up by one of the marina—"

"You ever been skinny-dipping, Eric?"

His mouth snaps shut and he looks at her from where he'd started pulling his shorts over his boxers. "_What?" _

She's looking into the water with a smirk on her face as if she'd just had the most brilliant of ideas.

Which, she _had not._

"You know, skinny-dipping— remember when we watched Veronica Mars. The prom episode, it was like a rite of passage. Veronica asks them to stop the—"

"I remember the episode, Jenny. And no. And _no." _

She turns towards him, smiling, and he thinks it's curious that she looks more sober now than she had when she'd told him she did care. "Come _on_, E. We _need_ this. It's like a— a rite of passage for… all best friends! And it's dark enough, no one's around right now, we're right by the pier…" she motions to her own body and then towards his, "We're practically there anyway!" She finishes, "And we could use a good cleansing!"

"A _cleansing_?" He repeats skeptically.

"Yeah… you know," she shrugs, her smile dimming a little, "All the arguing... I hate that… when _we _fight…"

He nods. "_That _I can agree to."

She blows out breath, "I… I really did think you didn't want to talk about what was goi—"

"You could ask," he tells her.

And she draws in a deep breath, nods at him, "Yeah. I can ask," she agrees, "I _will_ ask…" she tells him and then inclines her head towards the water, "And I think this would fun… I think we could _use _this."

"Use this?" he parrots again, forgoes putting his shorts on for leaning back against the boat-side and staring over at his best friend.

She nods, smiling again, her hair's dried to curls and it's hanging around her shoulders in a mess of wispy white-blond strands. "Lily wanted Veronica to do it— with the, _you only live once_ thing… and it's like… an important rite of passage…"

"A rite of passage?" He knows his skepticism is heavy enough to cut, but he can't help it.

"Yeah, you know… like on the show, it builds… trust and makes you appreciate things and each other and—"

"You're making this up as you go along… it doesn't even make sense."

"They were best friends. Best friends should skinny-dip together."

She says it so firmly that he grins at her, because she makes it sound like a law; and she reminds him of Blair when she does things like that. _Commands _things to exist through sheer will power.

"They _didn't _skinny-dip together," he points out, "Lily _died." _

"Exactly! And I almost died today!"

"You did not!" Eric reprimands, the grin still on his face, "I had it perfectly under control. And you were _shivering _for like an _hour _after you got out of the water—so going back into it is probably not a good idea."

"That was before scotch!" She defends, and her eyes light up then. She moves over to the glass and the bottle of scotch.

"Jenny…" he warns, knows she's not going to listen.

She pours another half-full glass of scotch and takes a gulp, not the entirety of it, thank goodness. Still he cringes at the effect just that little amount is going to have on her.

And when she looks over at him he raises both hands up in the air. "No way."

"Come _on_." She giggles.

"You said this was _Chuck's, _so there's that…" She says it like it makes a difference and sets the bottle and glass down.

He stares at her. "What if we get caught?"

"We _won't," _she says emphatically, "Look around! There's no one out here, it'll be—"

"That doesn't mean that there's no one—"

"This will be fun!" She interrupts, "Just trust me! It'll be something we'll always remember and laugh about…" she trails off for a beat and then she shrugs, "I'm doing it."

And she stands there and starts taking off her underwear.

Eric sighs, it's not like he can stop her; he watches her a little bemusedly. There's no denying she's gorgeous; tall and lean and well-shaped, she looks delicate and almost ethereal in the glimmering moonlight, under the twinkling stars overhead. And he figures that somewhere out there, there's a _slew _of sixteen-year-old boys, and probably some girls too, who would _love _to be asked to go skinny-dipping with Jenny Humphrey— but he is _not_ one of them.

It doesn't matter though, because her underwear is off and she's working on the bra. "Jenny…." he says; and he's not ashamed to hear that her name sounds like a whine coming from his lips right then.

"_Trust_ me," she says assuredly as she tosses her bra _at his face_ and moves towards the boat railing and steps, "This will be fun, Eric."

And he laughs, because there's really not much else to do as he catches it and then tosses it onto a seat; because it's been a _long _day and he's tired and feeling a little _raw _if not _better _somehow, and maybe a cleansing _is_ what he needs…

He takes the glass she'd left behind and finishes what's left of the scotch.

Jenny squeaks when she lowers herself into the water, a muffled gasp and giggle, before muttering, "_Oh. My. God." _

"If we get caught," Eric mutters as he takes off his boxers, "You're taking full blame."

She's shivering and laughing as she looks up at him on the boat, "_Trust me, _it's _fine," _she assured again in a loud whisper, looking around the quiet dock, "Just get in here," she splashed a little water, laughed again, "It's refreshing!"

And when Eric drops beside her with a splash, a gaspy _oh shit, _followed by, _it's cold, _she laughs even more and throws a fistful of water at his face.

"Hey!" He cries in mock outrage as rubs at his eyes; and then launches himself at her, careful to avoid the support beams of the dock, and dunks her head under water.

It's all they do for the next five minutes, just splash and laugh; and when Jenny's shivers start making her teeth chatter, Eric points at her and cries _see! _with shining triumph in his dark eyes, because he was _right. _

"I see nothing!" She defends, merriment in her voice, "All this is, is—"

There are steps suddenly; on the pier above them, hard and heavy and Jenny freezes, mouth snapping shut. She moves towards Eric, slipping behind him, so fast he barely has the time to realize it before there's a flashlight shining in both their faces.

"Oh crap," he murmurs and feels Jenny's hand slip into his and squeeze tight.

"You kids want to explain what you're doing down there?"

"Nothing!" Jenny cries quickly, "Nothing, sir!"

"Nothing?" The man repeats and the light doesn't waver, "Doesn't look like nothing..."

Eric blinks against it, feels his heart thudding in his chest, "We're uh… looking for… for her flip-flops?"

Jenny nods, "They fell!"

The light slides towards Jenny, who's fully behind him now, and Eric can see the security uniform more clearly, before the light shines back on him, "And your clothes perhaps?."

"Yeah," he agrees lamely and Jenny's grip on his hand tightens, "Perhaps."

"Our clothes fell overboard," Jenny tells him then.

And Eric can't help it, he laughs; the truth sounds like a _total_ _lie._

The guard is not amused. "I'm going to have to ask you both to step out of the water, please."

* * *

**|||-|||**

* * *

It's the sort of phone call, he knows, never, for the rest of his life, is he going to live it down.

He looks over at his companion, "You make a call."

And she gapes at him in disbelief, "I think yours is the lesser of two evils right now— or rather the _more_ evil, which is what we need."

He stares at her for a beat, before letting his eyes go back to the phone at their disposal; and he intones, almost ominously, "You don't understand."

They're at the police station, in a small meeting room with a round table, chairs, and a telephone; because really no one expects them to go to be held overnight for this, money will be paid and they'll be let go—as soon as an adult is called and comes to do it.

Jenny rolls her eyes a little, wrapping the robe they'd given her when they'd realized that she really_ didn't _have any clothes aboard the boat, tighter around herself. "So he'll tease you for a little while..."

Eric's gaze goes back to Jenny, and now it's _his_ that's full of disbelief, "_Tease me," _he echoes, "I have to call Chuck Bass and tell him that we got arrested for underage drinking and _indecent exposure." _

She shrugs, "So?"

"So… _teasing _is the least of my worries. He's going to do something… insane like buy out thread_ section _in the paper or put strippers in my shower to congratulate me or—or… he's going to—to… I can't _even _imagine it, it's going to be so surreal..."

Jenny laughs again, her blue eyes dancing, "You could call Blair."

"_You _could call Blair," he counters, gaze going back to the phone, "This is _your _fault."

Jenny shakes her head, "No way. She'll have a fit."

"Exactly— plus," he adds with a cheeky look in Jenny's direction, "She'll tell me not to hang out with you anymore— since you're _obviously_ a bad influence on me."

She rolls her eyes again, smirks a little, but doesn't deny it. "So we have to call Chuck. My Dad will freak and lock us in the house all summer, Dan will freak and lecture us to death, Lily and Serena aren't around… Chuck's the best bet."

"Yeah, I know…" he agrees. But still, he just stares at the phone.

She grins, picks up and dials the number herself; when it starts to ring she extends it to him, "It'll be fine…" she waggles an eyebrow at him excitedly, "Trust me."

And he sputters a little, as he brings the receiver to his ear, "That sounds _frighteningly _familiar…"

"Does it?" She teases.

He shakes his head a little as he listens to the phone ring, a smile quirking his lips, "You're not even sorry, are you?"

She shrugs, purses her mouth as she scoots closer to him, lays her head on his shoulder so she can hear when Chuck picks up, "Why would I be? Can't think of a _someone_ better to get arrested with than my best friend."

And Eric rolls his eyes at her, "Layering it on too thick, J."

"Kinda _meaning_ it, E," she shoots back.

And the phone is answered at the other end.

"Hey Chuck," Eric says wryly, after the other boy's greeting; tilts the phone so Jenny can listen, "So uh, guess where I am…"

* * *

**|||-the end-|||**

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* * *

  
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